


Planar Shifts

by crg1917



Category: Scandinavia and the World
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 03:31:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10267070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crg1917/pseuds/crg1917
Summary: Six friends and a newcomer join up on Halloween for some tabletop topsy-turvies.





	

“Are the candles in place?” Åland asked, as he adjusted his cape. He was rolling the short list of d20s, seeing which one would most likely betray its roller. It was a new session, after all, and they were beginning on Halloween. It was coming down to the scarlet die, speckled with black, and the die with the numbers inside little pumpkins.

“Yes,” answered Sweden from the bathroom.

“Candy?”

“Yes!” came Sweden, who emerged with half-done eyeshadow.

“Game maps? Character sheets?”

“Yes! God, Åland, I know what to do!”

“Do you have the guest list? Who’s coming again?” Sweden pulled out a steno pad and read out the names. “Norway, Iceland, Denmark, Finland, and Poland.” Åland adjusted his bow tie. “Good, now finish your eye shadow.” He paused. “I’m sorry, who was the last one?” Sweden gritted his teeth. He had invited Poland without Åland’s approval. It was his latest attempt (in good faith, of course) to make nice with one of his least favorite people. “Poland,” he said sheepishly. Åland wasn’t mad, merely surprised. He gave him a curious look.

“Because I’m trying to be more accepting of people I don’t normally get along with.”

“At a Halloween D&D session?”

“He said he liked to play 5th Edition.”

“Is that why you convinced me to invest over 1700 SEK in a version I was very apprehensive to getting?”

“Yes.”

Åland sighed and closed his eyes in resignation. “Look, just ask me next time.” The doorbell rang, the cheerful voices of children resounding from the front walk. Sweden opened to the door to the Nordic children, accompanied by a very humiliated Scania. “How goes it, dear nephew?” Sweden asked. He responded with a hand gesture that made Christiania yell, “I’ll tell your mom!” Sweden made a shooing motion with his hand and closed the door. He and Åland shared a look. “So, what does the evening hold?” he asked. “Well, this isn’t actually as bad as I thought it was going to be. I had always held v3.5 to be the pinnacle, but this is a lot simpler and easier to understand. And that’s not necessarily a good thing--I feel like it doesn’t make people actually put effort into creating their characters--but I see why people like it.” Just then, they heard voices that sounded like they were in a visceral shouting match. They definitely were not Nordic.

“Get out! You’ve been looking forward to this for almost a month! This is why you don’t have any friends!” shouted a powerful female voice.

“Hey, I have Hungary!” came a much weaker and timid male voice. “And I’m kinda scared! These people never liked me. Maybe they want me to… I dunno, do their dishes and make them a smörgåsbord?”

“GET. OUT.”

“Fine, fine!” was followed by an angry car door slam. Very hesitant footsteps were heard. Sweden decided to take one thing off of poor Poland’s plate and opened the door. Unfortunately, the kind gesture nearly gave him a heart attack. Poland gasped for breath, only to see a kindly smiling Sweden. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “Glad you could make it.” Poland attempted to make eye contact, only to have his eyes drop to subservient levels. “Come in.” He promptly made himself comfortable in his designated seat. “I have my character sheet on my phone. Do you want a paper version?” he asked Åland.

“Yeah.”

After Poland finished, he passed it out to Åland. Now, by this time, the others had shown up, just as surprised that Poland was there as Åland had been when he found out he was coming. They had brought their character sheets already filled out.

As Åland read their character sheets, the others sat in awkward silence, broken by Denmark. “So, what are you supposed to be?” he asked Poland. Åland, being the DM, was dressed to the nines. Sweden was a vampire, Denmark a French maid, Norway a hobbit, and Finland a fuzzy lion. Iceland was wearing demons. Poland, interestingly, was wearing a bishop’s miter along with his trademark burglar’s mask. “A hypocrite,” the Slav said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let it go, man,” Norway said. “He has his own philosophy.”

When Åland reached Poland’s character sheet, however, his face went from regular--bored, even--to concerned. “What is it? Did I write it down wrong? I wrote something wrong down, didn’t I?” Poland spouted. Åland shook his head gravely. “Can I talk to you? Alone, if you mind?” Poland face flushed red as the other turned towards him. “Sure,” he gulped.

When they were alone, Åland said to him, “You have yourself written down as a…”

“I know.”

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not going to be easy.”

“I know.”

“Alright,” Åland sighed.

When they returned, the others were wondering what that was all about. “Oh, Åland was worried that I had overloaded my character,” Poland lied, remembering to confess later. “Nothing to worry about.” The others swallowed it, except for Finland, who was naturally suspicious. He knew that Poland was hiding something.

“Everyone settled?” Åland asked. “Good. You begin in a faraway northern capital…”

* * *

“Jeez, you’d think that they’d invest in a heavier door,” said Kristian. The half-elf sat across the table in the Dark Lantern Tavern from Peer, watching the door swing open from a strong gust for the tenth time in the last hour. The dwarven fighter took a hard swallow of grain liquor--the only drink suitable for him--and replied, “Dear Kristian, can’t you handle a little cold? You spoony bard.”

“The way I saw you at Coldheart Castle… I wouldn’t be talking,” said the bard.

“Careful.”

“I’m your adventuring companion. I usually have to be.”

“I’ll drink to that,” grumbled Peer, “Although I’d really wish that our party would show up about now. Grifnor said that they wouldn’t be long.” Kristian shared his frustrated expression. “I’d drink to  _ that _ .” He looked around then said, “Ah, there they are!” as he waved over two tall, cloaked figures who had just seen them. They removed their hoods, revealing an elven rogue and a human druid. “Bah, this weather,” muttered Arnleifur, adjusting his burglar’s pack. “Couldn’t we move to more pleasant climes?”

“Nah, I like it here,” Anders said. “Of course you do,” his companion said with a tone that betrayed a certain degree of annoyance. “And I wouldn’t mind it if it weren’t like this all of the time. Even my homeland gets something resembling warm weather every once in awhile.”

“It also has volcanic eruptions in the thick of winter,” Anders said. “So, who are you?” he asked, pointing suddenly to Kristian and Peer. “We’re part of your party,” Peer said. “At least, that’s what Grifnor said.” He pointed to the dwarven bartender, who gave a curt nod back. “That’s what we had heard, but we had been told that there was going to be three people.”

“Oh, he’s incapacitated,” said Kristian, making a quick glance upwards with his eyes. The other two followed, and heard that familiar percussive rhythm. Anders rolled his eyes, while Arnleifur pursed his lips. The rhythm stopped, and a few minutes later an extremely strapped humanoid came down the stairs, causing almost every head to turn. He might’ve been mistaken for some sort of demon if not for his hard, golden hide. Literally golden. His hair had a golden sheen. This was definitely a dragonborn, and he was here to kick evil’s ass.

“Meet Tuomo,” said Kristian with a smirk. The third party member walked up to the terrified Anders, grabbed his hand, and forcefully shook it, nearly cracking bones. “Tuomo Aleksipoika,” he said with a solid bass voice. “Anders Johanssen,” squeaked the druid. “This is Arnleifur Baldurson,” jerking a thumb next to him. The rogue, hard to intimidate, stood tall and greeted the newcomer with a sticking spell. Tuomo laughed heartily. “I like this one,” he said. “He has a sense of humor.”

“He’s an arcane trickster, so careful around him,” Anders said. Blowing the human off, Tuomo declared, “Well, I do believe the only thing we’re missing is-”

“What are you?” asked Anders.

“Oh, I apologize. I’m a wizard,” he said, casting  _ dancing lights _ . For a few seconds, brilliant gold flashes sparked and went out across the tavern, enrapturing other attendees. “Now, we need a ranger.” Peer frowned. “What for? We’re pretty stocked up on magic casters.” Tuomo shook his head. “I happened upon a secret meeting on accident. Darkened room with candles. Something about the collapse of the Material Plane. Anyways, they mentioned something about ‘over the mountains and through the woods’.”

“Sure they weren’t talking about grandma’s house?” asked Arnleifur.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Which means that we need a ranger. Someone who can help us navigate.”

“First off, why should we even pursue this?”

“Because I know the folks who were talking about this,” he said. “They aren’t people we want beating us to whatever the end goal is.”

“Well, I know an adventure when I hear it,” sighed Kristian. “Let’s go find ourselves a ranger.”

* * *

“Well, as far as rangers go, the best one in the North is Lech,” said Grifnor as he washed out used steins. “I haven’t heard of him,” said Anders. “Well, considering how isolated we are from the rest of the Forgotten Realms, I’m not surprised,” he said. “But up here, he’s legendary. I’d not be believing it myself had I not met him just a week ago. It was like we were visited by a god. Of course, he’s up here because he’s gotten himself evicted from everywhere else, so he holes up in the mountains and comes down rarely. But when he does, it’s a magnificent occasion. Stories abound. Legend has it that he can slay four flesh golems in a single swing of his blade, which is reckoned to be indestructible.”

“Great! So, how do we find him?” Kristian said.

“Har! Good luck!” guffawed Grifnor. “He could be anywhere. He is a ranger, after all. His duty is to protect our villages from the dangers of the Hinterlands. But if I had to guess, I’d reckon he’s either in his hut at the base of the mountains, or stalking the forest.”

“We’ll try the forest first,” Tuomo said. “It’s not quite dark yet, so he could still be out and about. Any clues as to what he looks like?” Grifnor gave them a sly smile. “Oh, you’ll know,” he said mysteriously, then returned to serving customers. They left 5 gold on the counter per party member and left. “The forest path is at the north end of town,” said Anders. “I’ve only been down it once.” He did not say this with a smile.

The town they had just left, Wintry Hollow, was actually the capital of a small fiefdom that was a member of a vast confederation, the Northern League, created about a millennium before our heroes’ adventures. It served to make trade between Northern routes, as well as a political alliance in case of encroachment from the South. It sat on the edge of the Hinterlands, a vast land of forests and mountains where winter was the primary season. It was inhabited by mostly Undead that had strayed too far off the path and into the realm of the Dread Lord Lodfahrleit, who would turn unsuspecting travelers into his minions. It was deep into these woods that our party first glanced upon Lech, the legendary ranger. Unfortunately, all they caught of him was a blur with a large, fire-red sword. He was big—almost 6.5 feet tall from what they could guess. “Was that him?” asked Peer. “Could’ve been,” Arnleifur responded. “Grifnor wasn’t exactly helpful with the description.” Just then, they hit what felt like a cold spot. “Just got real cold here,” Kristian said. “That’s odd.” All of a sudden, a voice screamed out “NOOOOOO!” Something resembling a freight train hit them, and then the next thing they knew they were in some sort of cave.

The first thing they saw was the tail. It was thick and long, about 5 feet or so. The end snapped back and forth gently, and then their new host turned around. The party recoiled in horror. He was indeed about 6 feet tall, had red-and-purple skin, and horns like a gazelle. His eyes swirled so they melded into different colors every 5 minutes, and the party knew that they were either rescued or going to be sacrificed to Asmodeus any second now. The host just simply removed his heavy fur overcoat.

“Hello, adventurers,” said the Tiefling. “I am Lech.”

* * *

“HOLD IT,” Denmark shouted suddenly, shattering the trance.

“What?” Åland asked.

“You”—he pointed an accusing finger at Poland—“are a  _ devil _ ?” This drew sharp reactions from both the DM and his boyfriend. “Yeah, so?” Norway asked. “Finland’s a dragonborn, and you’re not questioning  _ his  _ intentions?”

“Why don’t we take 5?” Iceland said. “Cool out and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Denmark grumbled, still giving Poland the evil eye. “And  _ stuff _ .”

Sweden waited until the others had left, then cornered Poland on the back porch. The latter thought that Sweden was going to beat him—like he had done so many times before—but instead he just asked, “You ran it by Åland before, didn’t you? That’s why he pulled you aside.” Poland gulped. “Y-y-you knew?” Sweden shook his head. “No, but I had a pretty good guess. I’ve been playing this game for a while. So, a Tiefling? Knowing you, it actually makes sense.” The look that he gave told Poland that he wasn’t making fun, or even pitying. He was understanding. “Thanks,” said Poland. “Break’s over,” Sweden said matter-of-factly.

* * *

“You?” asked Anders weakly. “You’re Lech? We thought he was this—“

“Legendary ranger, renowned over the North?” said Lech cynically. “Yeah, I get that reaction a lot.”

“Alignment?” barked Peer.

“Huh?” Lech asked, confused.

“Alignment?” barked Norway.

“Chaotic good,” replied Poland.

“I see,” said Peer.

“So, how long have you been camped out here?” asked a still very nervous Arnleifur. “Oh, this isn’t my place,” said Lech. “It’s an old bunker. You can see the remains if you look hard enough.” Tuomo squinted. I don’t see anything,” he growled. “How do we know that you’re not a spy of the Nine Hells? Ready to do us in at a moment’s notice? We know your type.” That was enough to irritate any Tiefling to the point of attack, but the ranger instead gave a sad sigh. “If you do, just say so, and I’ll move on,” he said. “I’ve been forcibly removed from every realm on the Material Plane. Not because I did bad things, but because I’m the target when bad things do happen.” They immediately understood. He was a scapegoat for misfortune. As was the fate of every Tiefling, so that didn’t quite yet explain why he was a ranger in the North. “So, why a ranger? Why here?” Kristian asked. Peer looked not at them, but worriedly up the mountain, as if a mountain troll was going to burst out of the rock. It wasn’t what they saw, but what they heard. Tortured screams, and a high voice that sounded like metal being scraped slowly on concrete—the voice of madness. “That,” he said simply. “That is the sign that Lodfahrleit is brewing up his Army of the Heath. The first and only place he’ll attack is the Northern League—his spies haven’t gotten far enough south to notice anyone else. That’s because of me.” He produced an ancient-looking light crossbow. “I’ve been improvising arrows from old metal to take down Lodfahrleit’s spies,” he said. “They usually manifest themselves as deer or raptors, but they all have one distinguishing trait. They’re all Undead.”

“Well, that’s lovely,” Anders said. “Is that what our mystery men were upstairs?”

“Who?” asked the Tiefling.

“I heard voices mentioning something about ending the Material Plane back in the village tavern,” said Tuomo. “Something about the realm of Nimargea? And what  _ is  _ the Material Plane?”

“Nimargea is his name for his planned empire,” said Lech. “And your bard should be able to help you the latter answer.” Kristian made a helpless gesture. “I don’t know interplanar lore,” he said, “but I know a little bit about the bumper realms.”

“Okay, I am extremely confused,” Peer said. Lech drew a large circle in the dirt with a broken arrow. “This circle signifies all that we have discovered on this world. The Forgotten Realms, the Sword Coast—everything.” He then drew two crescent shapes flanking the main circle, extending the shape into an oval. “These are also part of the Material Plane, like our world, but you have to access them through portals. The one on the right is the Realm of the Fey.” Anders shifted uncomfortably. Lech raised a glance towards him. “You know of this place?” He nodded. “I am fluent in Sylvan, and have made many trips to the Feywild,” said Anders. It’s… not a place you linger if you value your mind.” Lech made a small nod in the affirmative. “Well, by any rate, it’s better than what lies on the other side,” he said. “ _ That  _ I know of,” Kristian said. “Shadowfell.” The word fell like a curse. “Black, desolate, ashen, with the foul tang of brimstone,” the ranger drolled. “All of these adjectives accurately describe the Shadowfell. It’s a land with few living things and those that are you don’t want to mess with.”

“So, that’s the Material Plane?” Tuomo growled. “How would they go about destroying it, and why? Didn’t you say that they wanted to establish a vast empire?” Lech turned around to face the setting sun. “The first stage is the Razing. It’s where any dissident races are annihilated and transformed into Undead. The Northern League is obviously the primary target, and being who I am with my inherited pipeline to Asmodeus, I’m protecting this civilization using insider knowledge, essentially. The next step is to lead a direct assault on the Feywild. There’s faerie magic that allows access to the other planes—and beyond.” Lech looked about, just to make sure they were alone. “Let’s go to my hut. We have to gear up.”

* * *

“Break for 15 minutes?” Åland said, putting his notes, dice, and other secret files into his lockbox. “Sounds good,” Norway said, yawning. Iceland stretched, Finland went outside to drink, Denmark was rummaging for food, and Sweden was reprimanding him. Only Poland remained at the table. “Hey, it’s okay,” Åland said, noticing his glum expression. “I’m working him in.” Poland made a weak acknowledgement. “And I thank you for that,” he said. “Is it always this slow?”

“First session is usually build-up. You’ll get the basic quest outline, and the meat next session,” Åland said. “Of course, there’s always room for everything to get sidetracked.” Poland smiled. It was the first time Åland had ever seen him smile, and it gave him chills. It was the kind of smile that hinted that Poland knew some details that the others didn’t. This terrified Åland. It meant that his position as supreme dictator of the game could be compromised. As the others began to rejoin the table, Åland maintained a wary eye on Poland.


End file.
